Sample-Lafayette
by Itwasenough
Summary: A sample chapter written as a side piece inspired by The Taken, a very well written Hamilton fic.


Lafayette lay prone on the cot, his breathing hitched ever so slightly when Washington drew near, the only inclination that he was aware of his surroundings. Washington sank down into a chair running a hand over his face. Looking down at the now broken man he had once, and hoped to again, call son Washington couldn't help but feel anger at the bastard who had done this. Sighing Washington moved to brush a stray lock of dark curly hair out of Lafayette's eyes. As Washington's hand brushed lightly against Lafayette's shoulder the man woke his blue eyes going wide, he whipped around, twisting to grab Washington's wrist.

" Do not touch me." Lafayette whispered hoarsely, his thick French accent slurring the vowels slightly. His grip was surprisingly strong for his current state. Washington and Lafayette faced each other, forgotten father and broken son.

"Son…" Breathed Washington, retracting his hand back to his side.

"What did you call me?" Said Lafayette his sapphire eyes searching Washington's grey ones frantically.

"I…. I.. L-Lafaye-" Washington looked stunned, and slightly worried. His hand twitches like he wants to reach out to the weathered frenchman, but he keeps them by his sides. Then

Lafayette's arm collapses, even his malnourished weight proving too much for his fragile frame. Washington jumped out of his chair reaching to catch the man he considered kin. Lafayette ducked away, shielding his face with his marred and scarred arms. George pulled back, looking at the web of scars and still fresh cuts that mesh across Lafayette's forearms. He brings a shaking hand up before dropping it back down and backing away. Almost stumbling he turns and strides out of the tent placing a hand to his temple.

"Sir! I-"

Washington almost ran right into Hamilton. With a good three inches on him, George would have bowled him over.

"Hamilton." He says passively.

"Sir, I… well, that's not important right now, are _you_ alright Sir?" Asked Alexander bringing a hand up to his neck, rubbing it awkwardly.

"No Alexander, I am not " _alright_ " "

Alex gulps, he can practically see the quotation marks.

"Well," Alex peers at the ground for a moment "How is he?" Alexander looks up at Washington, quickly searching his face for any signs on how his friend and fellow immigrant was faring.

 **Other Random Scenes**

 _Alexander….. Washington…. Laurens, Mulligan…. And he was… Lafayette, Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier de Lafayette…_

Lafayette shuddered before kneeling over and spitting up blood, each hacking, grating cough sent little droplets spinning and splattering to the floor. Lafayette leaned against the wall of the cell taking deep breaths. A trickle of blood winds its way down his lip and neck staining the torn and tattered hem of his shirt.

"Merde" gasped Lafayette, squeezing his eyes shut. He slid down the wall resting his head on his knees and started reciting the list of names again… and again…. and again…

It was dark, almost blindingly so. The blindfold encircling Lafayette's eyes let no light in, but that implies that there was light to keep out in the first place. Something screeches; heavy wood against cold stone, and the rushing and cracking of a torch. The bonds that secured his hands behind him pulls tight before releasing the circulation cutting tension. Lafayette doesn't fight back, he knows how that will go. Nor does he speak and he knows all too well how that will go. He winces just thinking of the cruel punishments inflicted upon him. A rough and calloused hand grabs his wrist yanking him off balance as he pulls him off to the side roughly. Cold metal, so cool it almost hurts. Something heavy and cumbersome, a manacle, encircles his wrist. Lafayette swallows, there is a lump in his throat he can't seem to get rid of. His other hand, his left, is tied back around the chair his arm twisted awkwardly behind him.

"One"

Frowning lafayette looked up, he knew that word.

"Two"

Something was going to happen soon… Probably something painful.

"Three"

The sound of a rusty wheel creaking and then… Pain. Pain so fierce and intense his vision dances black for a moment. Someone is screaming, high and frenzied and pained, and it's him. He is screaming, he is the one in pain. A horrifying crack fills the room, somehow echoing louder that Lafayette's screams.

"They really do scream beautifully, it's like music to me." Mumbled King George and he laughed and laughed at how utterly pathetic this American "major general" is. He leans back against the doorframe watching Lafayette dance in and out of consciousness, shattered wrist dangling useless above the cold cobblestone floor, Relishing in the pain of those who dared to oppose him.


End file.
